


Your favorite toy

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Masturbation, Plushie Kink, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Stiles finds himself shelling out $15 and is now the proud owner of one stuffed werewolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your favorite toy

It honestly starts as a joke. Stiles spots the damn thing at the mall, and says, "Hey, Scott, look at this! It looks kinda like Derek." And he holds up a little stuffed wolf with black fur for Scott to see.

"Shut up, Stiles, you can't just say things like that, people will hear you!" Scott says, shoving at Stiles' arm, shooting panicked looks at the other customers in the store who in no way seem to care what either of them are saying or doing. "Besides, we're supposed to be looking for a gift for Allison, not for you."

Stiles rolls his eyes and nods, "Fine," and was all set to leave the toy on the table where he'd found it. Except that just then the lights in the store reflect in the wolf's eyes and they glow, bright red. And Stiles finds himself shelling out $15 and is now the proud owner of one stuffed werewolf.

*

"That room better be clean, Stiles," his dad calls out. Stiles can hear his heavy boots on the stairs as he frantically shoves dirty laundry and old magazines under his bed.

"Yeah, I know, Dad," he shouts back. The little stuffed werewolf is sitting on his desk. Stiles doesn't think about it, he just grabs it, shoves it under his sheets at the last second, right as his dad opens his door. His dad leans in the door frame, raises an eyebrow. "What? It's clean." Stiles says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Right," his dad says. "We're having lasagna for dinner." As he turns to leave, he asks over his shoulder. "In the closet or under the bed?"

"Little of both," Stiles answers as he flops down on his bed, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Derek Hale is standing at the end of his bed. "Dude, what the hell?" he yelps, startled, and yeah, okay, flailing and freaking out a little. "Didn't we have a conversation about doors, and you know, using them?"

"Stiles," Derek growls, leaning forward. "I need you to do some research into the Hale family tree."

Stiles props himself up against his headboard, heart still slamming in his chest. "Oookay. What am I looking for?"

"I'll let you know when you find it. How long is it going to take?" Stiles tries not to take the intimidating stare-down personally. Even if Derek hates him, he's here to ask for a favor, not to kill him. And any day where no one wants to kill him is officially a good day.

"Maybe a couple of days, I guess." Stiles shrugs. Derek grimaces at him, the sharp points of his canines visible, his eyes glowing bright. He looks hungry, frankly, and Stiles isn't ashamed to say that it's honestly kinda terrifying.

"Stiles, you eating?" His dad interrupts, calling up to him from the kitchen.

"I'll be right down!" he shouts back through the open door. When he turns back around, Derek is gone, his blinds swaying over his open window. "Yeah, no, you're welcome, glad to do it," Stiles says to his empty room.

*

He stays up late, jacked up on Adderall and Diet Dr. Pepper doing Derek's research. And that's probably why when he finally falls asleep that night, he dreams about wolves.

He's running through the woods, leaves and branches crunching under his feet, sharp wind on his face. He can feel warm, solid bodies on either side of him. He's surrounded. But he knows he's safe. So when one of wolves pounces on him, rolls him over, Stiles isn't afraid.

Teeth clamp down hard over his shoulder, but don't break the skin. He doesn't know how long they've been tumbling together on the ground. But it has Stiles on his back now, over him, on top of him. And suddenly it isn't just any wolf, it's Derek, it's always been Derek

And that's when Stiles realizes that he's naked, and hard, so hard, soft, silky fur rubbing over his bare dick. He goes light-headed, weak-limbed. It feels so good, lying there, the easy way the fur slides over his skin, the way it clings to his dick, to the moisture beading there. He's rutting up against the wolf, Derek, hips quaking, curving into it, pleasure looming down on him, closing in, and he can't stop, he's going to --

Stiles wakes with a jolt as he comes, shuddering through it, hips still moving, little gentling humps. He blinks blearily as he regains consciousness, quickly picking up on two things. One, that his dick is still poking out of the front of the open slit of his boxers. And two, that the werewolf stuffed animal is mashed under his hips, come drying on its matted fur.

So there's that.

*

And yeah, okay, so Stiles had already had his requisite bisexual identity crisis like three years ago, he could handle kinky sex dreams. He was practically a pro at kinky sex dreams. Having to clean come off of a stuffed animal was admittedly a little weird, but nothing he couldn't deal with. _And it was over and done with now, okay, so get over it, Stiles_ , he thinks to himself.

He goes to Derek's house after he gets out of school, parks his jeep around back, and tries not to scream like a girl when Derek appears out of the mist in the woods to meet him. Which is when Stiles realizes that he's not over it, not at all, he can't be when Derek is shirtless and sweaty, and just really, amazingly gorgeous, exactly like something out of a dream.

"What have you got?" Derek snaps, and Stiles should probably stop gaping at him if Derek's glare is anything to go by.

He hands over what he managed to print out last night, which admittedly, isn't much. "Here."

Derek scans it quickly, then shakes his head. "No. There's gotta be more."

"Maybe if you told me what you're looking for." Stiles shoots back, throwing up his hands in exasperation, sighing heavily. He's really getting tired of the secretive werewolf bullshit.

But he gets ignored, of course. "Just keep looking, Stiles." Before he can argue, Derek partially wolfs out, with the glowing eyes and the teeth lengthening, and runs off into the woods. Stiles has to give it to him, it was pretty damn awesome as far as dismissals go.

"Okay, good talk," he says to the empty yard.

*

Stiles couldn't worry too about the whole wolf sex dream thing. Because it happened again, that night, and the night after that. But no big deal. Stiles didn't think about it much, didn't want to think about it. He just cleans up his mess and goes on with his day like normal, like he'd never gotten off dreaming about Derek and dark fur moving over flushed skin.

In retrospect, that was kind of an idiot move.

Derek is standing in his bedroom when Stiles bursts through the door, throwing down his book-bag. He looks angry, so, business as usual there. And he's holding Stiles' stuffed werewolf, which is where things get awkward.

"What the hell is this?" Derek asks, voice grim and Alpha powerful. Derek still needs him to work on that research for him, so at least that means he's going with questions first, the killing on hold for now. Stiles can work with that. 

"What, you don't see the family resemblance? I thought the likeness was uncanny, myself." Stiles quips, trying to defuse the tension that seems to be building, jumping back when Derek takes a threatening step towards him.

"Don't be a jackass, Stiles," Derek growls.

"It's a toy, a joke," he says, holding up his hands defensively, wondering how fast he could get out the door. He's trying to think best case scenario here, one that doesn't end with him screaming in pain. But then Derek laughs, a little disbelieving bark of a sound. 

He stalks forward, until he has Stiles backed up against the wall, his breath heavy on the side of Stiles' face. "It smells like you," he says, then clarifies. "Your sweat. Your come."

And of all possible ways this conversation could play out, there actually couldn't be a worse one than this. "What?! N-no, no." Stiles stutters out, and he wonders if Derek can feel the way his heart jumped into his throat.

Derek wraps one large hand around Stiles' chin, his fingers digging into Stiles' cheek. "What are you doing?" Stiles gasps out. He's starting to hyperventilate, he's dizzy and his knees won't hold him up much longer - and then Derek's kissing him, which, no surprise, only makes it worse. And a lot better at the same time.

He moans into Derek's mouth as Derek grabs at his hips, pressing him hard into the wall, his thighs shoved in between Stiles' as they rub up against each other. It's great, the best thing that's ever happened in the history of ever, except that he's confused. He turns his head, enough to say, "But you don't even like me. Obviously not that it matters right now," he adds quickly, because it's stupid to give someone who's touching your dick a reason why they shouldn't be touching your dick, because then they might _stop_. 

Derek makes an impatient noise, pulling back. "Does it look like I don't want you?" he asks, gesturing down at the way his erection is tenting his jeans, really full and obvious now that Stiles is getting a good look at it. Stiles' mouth drops open, his heart hammering. This can't be happening. He'd worry that he'd somehow fallen asleep except that his dreams are never this vivid and real. How is this happening?

"Fuck," Stiles says, lurching forward, and getting his mouth on Derek's again. Derek is kissing him like he can't get enough of the taste of him, alternating between sucking on his tongue, hard and hurting, and sharp, sudden nips to his bottom lip. 

He lets Derek maneuver him around and down onto his bed. His mouth is sore, feels bruised up and swollen as he lets Derek strip him from the waist down, trailing his biting, sucking mouth down the side of Stiles' neck. He's lying there half-naked and hard under Derek's hands, one of which is sliding over his stomach, easing low, so close to where Stiles needs it that he whimpers a little, desperate and hungry. 

"Is this what you want?" Derek demands, kneeling over Stiles, huge and hovering, and maybe it's some kind of dominance/submission thing, not that Stiles objects to that at all. If that's what Derek's into, then Stiles is totally on board.

"Yes, fuck yes." Stiles moans, his hips humping up, helplessly looking for contact. Then Derek's hand closes around him, and his whole body goes stiff with the shock of it. He clutches at Derek's shoulders and back, firm muscles flexing there as Derek moves, his hand warm and damp around Stiles' cock. Just smoothing over it, lavish and tender, slowly jacking him off, and Stiles goes completely non-verbal, says, "Oh, oh, oh," over and over. 

Derek's braced over him, his eyes a blue flame, humming little pleased notes as Stiles' precome slicks his hand, licking his lips like he wants a taste. Stiles has to close his eyes, dizzy, his cock jerking hard, his nuts drawn-up and tight.

It's too much and not enough, he's trembling with over-stimulation but he doesn't know if he can come like this. He wants to beg Derek to do it harder, faster. And then something plush and silky wraps around his dick and he comes like a shot, sloppy wet, drenching the little stuffed werewolf as Derek rubs it against his cock. And Stiles is just shaking apart, crying out in shock and pleasure, arching into Derek.

"Fuck, Stiles," Derek growls, and then he's throwing the little wolf aside, tearing at his fly, his face twisted up in a fierce grimace as he pulls his dick out, crawling up Stiles' body to kneel over Stiles' chest, his hand a blur as he beats himself off, cock red, fat, and full, little drops of precome splashing down onto Stiles' cheek. Stiles is panting, can't keep his mouth closed, and he's staring, because the view is pretty freaking awesome and he doesn't want to miss a second of it.

That's when Derek howls, low and rough, and comes, marking Stiles' chin and cheeks with his spunk. Stiles sucks a few stray droplets off of his lips, the taste bitter in his mouth. And god, he likes it. He liked all of it. All the gay sex stuff and fuck, he couldn't even deny it, the kink. He was really so into the kink.

"Oh god, now you think I'm some kind of pervert, like a fur fetishist with a werewolf kink." Stiles moans, embarrassed now. 'Cause it's Derek seeing him like this. The guy who hates him, thinks he's a rambling, neurotic waste of space. But he's also the guy sitting on top of Stiles, his dick wet and softening, hanging out of his jeans. The same Derek who just made him come with a stuffed animal, Stiles reminds himself, the one who'd said he wanted him, so probably he must like Stiles a little. Some of the time at least.

Derek shrugs and slides back down the bed to nose at the hollow of Stiles' throat, probably smelling the scent of his come on Stiles' skin. The thought sends a little shiver through Stiles' body. 

"You dug up my sister's grave, told the whole town I was a mass murderer, and tried to pimp me out to one of your little friends. I've thought worse things about you." Derek is looking down at Stiles and smiling, a soft little quirk of his lips. Stiles smiles back. Yeah, maybe Derek likes him.

"Thanks, very nice." Stiles says, sleepy and satisfied. Stiles hopes he'll dream about this, and nothing else from now on. This was good, it was better than anything, awesome, and he's going to want more. And he can't help but hope that Derek wants the same thing. 

Stiles breathes in, closes his eyes. And when he opens them again, Derek is still there.


End file.
